THE PIGGERY

By Rory Morgan - 2019

“Let us raise hogs, more hogs and still more hogs.” 

So said one H.S. Rice, in a letter to the Easton Daily Free Press, published on February 14, 1918. His letter was part of a campaign to persuade Easton to allow the raising of pigs within the city limits. (Rice was actually a resident of Wilson Township, but apparently felt free to tell his Easton neighbors how to manage their city.)

The subject was debated at a City Council meeting, where citizens spoke both for and against the idea. Dr. J.J. Condran firmly opposed the idea and noted that “we are not living in Martin’s Creek or Glendon, but in the City of Easton”. He further noted that Easton was already “having trouble daily” with the residents of certain neighborhoods “keeping chickens in the cellar.”

 Arguing in favor of the idea, a Mr. Van Syckle said that those opposed to the idea should “get out into the country, where they could smell a few hog pens; they would get some color into their cheeks instead of sitting around looking like a ghost.” The Free Press reporter dryly remarked that “To whom this elegant piece of verbal sarcasm had reference was not stated.”

The campaign to allow residents to raise pigs was not unique to Easton. The United States had been actively involved in World War I for almost a year. For various reasons, a severe shortage of pork developed - which, of course, resulted in a dramatic price increase. The obvious solution was to increase the supply of pork across the country - the question was to do that.

The “municipal piggery” was one solution. A number of smaller cities around the country had begun to raise hogs as a municipal function. Edible garbage was fed to the pigs, rather than being incinerated, thus reducing the garbage disposal cost. The fattened pigs were sold to meatpackers, generating income.

Lafayette College professor Dr. Edward Hart became a strong advocate of the piggery concept. He led a delegation from Easton’s influential Rotary club to Worcester, MA, to evaluate that city’s piggery operation. The committee returned with a favorable report and assured Council that there were “no highfalutin ideas in vogue there”, and that “no attempt is made to wash the faces of the porkers or to spray them with cologne.”

Additional support for the piggery came from Henry F. Marx, the respected head of Easton Library. He strongly endorsed the concept and urged Eastonians to see it as a patriotic duty in wartime. In fact, he said,  “we ought to be able to stand a little odor of pigs when we think of our boys in the trenches.”

The piggery issue wasn’t the first time that Easton ended up chasing its tail over garbage. In the early 1900s, cities across the country began to look at ways to improve their haphazard methods of handling garbage. At the time, much of Easton’s garbage ended up in the river or wherever else residents felt like dumping it. Easton decided that systematically collecting the garbage and hauling it to a central municipal incinerator would be a better approach.

While the idea seemed simple, the process of executing it seemed to grind on forever. There were various incinerators on the market. The process of choosing one became - unsurprisingly - complicated by local politics.

 A meeting was described by a newspaper as consisting of “long, senseless squabbles” over the “most trivial details. At one point, a member of Council noted that the necessary decisions were no closer than ever after 21 meetings. Another speaker compared buying incinerators to buying a pair of shoes; he didn’t really know much about them but he thought that he could pick out a good one. A prominent businessman proposed that rather than burning the city’s garbage, it should just be mixed with some cement to make building blocks.

A 35-ton (per day), coal-fired model was finally chosen. The city bought property near today’s Highlands Boulevard and erected the incinerator and its 125-foot smokestack. Mules and  wagons were purchased to collect and haul the garbage. Men were hired to operate the incinerator and coal was purchased to fuel it. In  September, 1910, the burning of garbage finally began.

The project cost about $40,000. The original incinerator ran for about 15 years, but by 1926, there was a need for a new one. A 100-ton unit was selected and constructed - without the drama of the original project.

No one expected the garbage question to again be front and center in a few years. But, thanks to the war, it was; decisions about the piggery had to be made. There was talk of locating it in the lower part of Hackett Park, Ultimately, though, the city bought a 95-acre farm in Williams Township, for $6,500 and about a mile south of the incinerator. (It was in the vicinity of what is now a farm and a mobile home park.) The first pigs arrived in May, 1918.

Just six months later, the war ended. The pressure on pork prices was quickly reduced, as was the influence of “patriotic duty”. By 1920, although the pig population had reached 150-200 and a first-year profit of $2,000 was reported, the city’s enthusiasm for the operation was dimming. An analysis showed that the piggery needed a significant investment to thrive; Easton believed that it could not afford it.

In early 1922, the city went out of the pig business.The property was added to the city’s park system, with the name of South Delaware Park. In 1947, Easton sold it at auction to the Jacksonian Democratic Association; the pigs became a distant memory.

The incinerator continued to operate until about 1960, when the city transitioned to a landfill approach. It sat unused until 1972, when Easton sold the 31-acre property to the developer of The Highlands community.

Municipalities have struggled with waste disposal for a century. Landfills create controversy; as do incinerators. Recycling reduces waste, but doesn’t eliminate it. Pigs can't eat plastic, so piggeries are unlikely to return to popularity. And so the search for a solution will continue.

Thanks to Easton City Clerk Tom Hess for his assistance in preparing this article.

Easton Incinerator